We'll Sit Here with the Sky on Fire
by Animus Revival
Summary: The last battle is here and the world is about to be engulfed by hellfire, but that doesn't mean Dean and Castiel can't talk.


**We'll Sit Here with the Sky on Fire**

It's the apocalypse and Dean sits outside a shattered corner store, bottle dangling from his fingers. He toasts the burning sky and takes a sip, the liquid flat and setting ablaze his scorched throat. He stares at the sky, wishing he could hear someone scream for help – but nothing comes. He can't hear the sound of people anymore. Not even their screams. At least when he could he knew he had someone to save. But now he hears nothing and it destroys and reduces Dean to the shaved pebbles at his feet. He wants – he needs – to hear someone. He needs to hear himself.

But the voice – his voice – never comes.

Dean cracks open a new bottle and tosses the empty to the side. He reaches for the empty bottle as an after thought, Sam's chiding voice flooding his mind, telling him that his leftover trash is single handily causing global warming.

Dean's snorts at Sam's words and his hand comes back to his lap, the bottle still laying on the ground. Global warming has already come to pass and soon the world will swallow the bottle up anyways. Dean's sure hell will win this battle. He thinks hell already has.

The air around Dean grows warm with his thoughts, the fluttering of wings and the sound of an angel sitting making him pause in breath. Dean's eyes burn and his throat aches as he takes a sip of his drink, unable to look at the angel beside him – it could be another dream or a mirage.

Silence that Dean is so tired of threatens to break him as he passes the bottle to the angel beside him, hoping to feel hands on his and not fragments of broken glass.

The angel's fingers are worn and cracked on Dean's and he bites back a cry and the urge to pull the hand closer; rest is on his cheek in remembrance that he is real. The hand pulls away slowly like grains of time and Dean forgets to breath until he feels shoulders touch his and a thigh against his own.

Dean coughs before he tries to speak, his eyes still on the red hot sky. "Don't worry. It's not beer; well not the good kind. All this crappy store had left was some flat bottles of root beer. Angel's can drink that, can't they?" Dean says and his voice comes out in a bunch of croaks and rasps.

"Yes, Dean. I can drink this." Castiel says and his breath is like cool air hitting Dean's face and warmth – the good warmth that makes you think of home – spreads through his body. "Thank you."

Dean listens to Castiel take a sip like he has all the time in the world at his disposal. He tries not to let his fingers wander to the angel's thigh, another reassurance that Castiel is there. Dean settles on having his fingers dangle slightly off the edge of his leg, bushing against the angel's black trousers.

"Your brother. He moves closer." Castiel says and Dean can feel the hellfire spread, making its way to the end of the earth.

"I don't know if I can stop Sammy, Cas. We're all that's left, me and him." Dean looks at his half-empty bottle and snorts. "Maybe God wants the world to burn so He can start it again. Maybe I can't save the pebbles that are left."

"Do not give up faith Dean Winchester. His plans for you are not yet done."

"Really, 'cause right about now, I think any plans the big guy in the sky had for me are done. I failed, Cas. 'Cause Sammy – Sammy's not here. And I can't face him. Not while he still looks like Sam. And I can't. I can't kill my brother." Dean takes a swig of his drink. "I think God picked the wrong guy to fill Jesus' boots."

Dean blames the pickup of sand for his tears and he drinks his root beer, wishing it was real alcohol so he could vanish into an abyss of numb.

"No one said you were Jesus Dean." Castiel says, and Dean can hear a touch of mirth; Dean snorts at the fact that Castiel has finally mastered that human response. He feels proud for a moment, then wonders if he'll see Castiel in hell when the jokes are all done and the earth finally gives its last breath. Will God let an angel fall that far again?

"I wouldn't have made a good Jesus anyways. Long hair doesn't suit this beautiful mug." Dean gives a short smile, his lips cracking; he still has a few jokes left inside him too. He tastes blood on his lips.

Castiel makes no response and Dean hands the angel the last faux-named beer, taking a swig off the top himself. It might be never until he tastes pop again.

"Keep it for yourself Dean. You can derive more pleasure from it then I can." Castiel says, his hand coming to Dean's.

"Drink it." Dean says and he finally looks at the angel. Castiel is covered in black soot and his cloths have holes he never bothered to magically angel repair. His hair looks shorter too, singed by hellfire, and he looks tired, more then any angel should.

Castiel takes the root beer and closes his blue eyes as he takes a sip, the sea and ocean disappearing in his gaze. He rests the bottle on his leg and Dean can see the clear blue sky in the angel's eyes as he opens them.

"If I fail, what will happen to you?"

"You will not fail, Dean. But when this is all over, I will return to my Father and brothers in heaven."

"What and I get left all alone down here? Whose gonna be my Eve and help me repopulate new Eden?"

Castiel quirks an eyebrow a small smile turning the corner of his lips up. "Angels have no sex Dean."

"Hey, you could be the first one to try."

"I could. But I will be no help to you if I Fall to earth now." Castiel says looking at Dean, and Dean can almost feel a flower bloom beneath his hands.

"Yeah, I guess it would be a bad idea – now."

Castiel takes another drink and this time his eyes are open, and Dean looks into them and see's nothing but Castiel himself.

The moment breaks when Castiel looks towards the sky, the red hue growing deeper and turning into black smoke. "Dean, Sam's coming."

"I know."

"We should prepare for battle."

"Ya."

Dean doesn't move and Castiel stays still, the world turning black. And then they fight.


End file.
